


a quiet night as any

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Praying to Castiel, Sex in the Impala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7445119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn’t even take his hand off his cock or his spit wet finger from his hole when the bare squeak of the Impala’s back door sounds and there’s no denying it. One foot dropping down to the footwell, boot loud, legs widening as far as they can go in invitation.<br/>“Just gonna watch, sweetheart?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	a quiet night as any

It’s a quiet night as any.

Suffocating.

Sam thinks that he’s in some broad’s bed - or maybe just slumped over a bar passed out - and Dean can’t fault him that. He usually would be. Probably lingering by now, for how late it is. Post-sex hazy cuddles you can’t fault a guy for. Hopefully at least a ceiling fan rolling on with it’s hazy heat. A foreign bed, foreign town, foreign name on his tongue. And sleep. It’s where Dean should be.

He’s home. As much of one he’s got anyway. Not that sleazy motel a few miles back with half the lights fritzing out on it’s sign. Nah.

Home.

Windows rolled down, the muggy heat of the night pulsing around him, stars up in the sky shining bright as they ever do in the Midwest. Better than any busy town, anyway. There’s fields stretching to either side and it’s too low to really look like corn but dammit he thinks of it as corn anyway, because what else do they grow in the nowheres in between.

Jeans pushed to about his knees. Bunched up. Kinda uncomfortable. Skin sticks to the leather with sweat, dragging every time he shifts. Hand around his cock stroking, squeezing, trying to picture a pretty broad’s lips wrapped there.

He left a few behind.

There was a blond with empty eyes that tried to press against him, a brunette all spitfire and too many shots, a petite thing in a frayed jean skirt. He left them behind, one bar after another, in rapid succession. Moving on. Doesn’t know where he’s going. Never really does. But he’s still trying to think about their glossy lips around his dick when he’s alone in the back of his car in the ass end of nowhere and so.. so… so very hard…. trying not to think about other things.

Shirt bunched high on his waist, pulling tight and digging in to his skin. Knees knocking against the back seat and the front. Dragging his other hand down between the hot spread of his legs. Rough finger pads running round the rim of his ass.

Yeah. Pretty girls with glossy lips don’t really go there much do they.

Insects hum past the open windows, wind rustling, the night is quiet as any but it’s never really silent.

There’s something buzzing away in his mind as bad as the cicadas of a few years back. Running round in circles. One incessant track. He’s passed the finish point a few times and circled, passed it again, can’t ever really seem to shake it.

The air ripples around him with a charge. Like before a storm. Before. When you know you ought to run. Something bigger coming you’ll never get a hold on. It’s familiar by now, a little, as much as it can be. The air shifts, a pop like coming up to the peak of a mountain when you’re driving through the Appalachians and your ears shift.

Dean doesn’t even take his hand off his cock or his spit wet finger from his hole when the bare squeak of the Impala’s back door sounds and there’s no denying it. One foot dropping down to the footwell, boot loud, legs widening as far as they can go in invitation.

“Just gonna watch, sweetheart?”

He can’t really help it.

The night is dark and quiet but he knows this well. Strong hands on his thighs, sharp face coming in to focus all intent and hunger. Dean doesn’t stop, wouldn’t slow this down ‘cause he knows once he’s lost the momentum he’d stutter to a grinding halt. Blue eyes watch, calculate, hold so many things he can’t put a name to. Rough hands pulling his jeans down farther. Mouth sinking over his cock and christ it’s so hot and wet that Dean goes boneless. Relaxes in a way he never lets himself.

Because he knows.

Because he trusts.

The name is familiar on his tongue and the car beneath him his cradle.

Nothing will find him in the quiet of night if he’s wrapped around Castiel. Nothing will hurt him in the dark of night if Castiel keeps guard. So he sinks into the leather of his home and he moans like a whore because nothing is keeping him back and he tangles his fingers into an angel’s hair because he’s allowed to.

Filthy wet and louder echoing past the windows into the sprawling fields, Cas is shameless and eager, free to give. Dean takes and he takes. Shoves his hips up and pulls down. Hands holding, voice encouraging, thighs tightening around Cas’ head. It builds between them, noise and heat, Dean panting like an animal and praising, Cas’ sucking filthy, wraps an arm under Dean’s waist, the rock of the Impala on her struts as she digs into gravel. There’s noise and heat.

It’s quiet.

Soft lapping strokes of the tongue as Cas cleans him, rubs a chin along his bare thigh, fingers stretching up under his t-shirt to lay along the pulse of his heart. Sam thinks Dean is with a girl whose name he won’t remember in a noisy hotel or hell maybe a back alley. Dean doesn’t think much at all.

Maybe he prays.

That’s probably what it was. Those hidden little ‘Cas’ and ‘Cas please’ and ‘Cas fuck’ he couldn’t even keep from himself with his hand around his cock and nothing but the night around him. Maybe. He can’t count how many times he thinks ‘Cas’ throughout the day before he can bite it back.

Blue eyes watching and the hazy pull of night around them, now, still, after - it’s quiet.

A quiet night as any.


End file.
